


Thin Floors and Tall Ceilings

by Kitzie



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Bromance, Canon Compliant, Chocobros - Freeform, Episode Ignis, Episode Ignis Verse 2, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Sex, Introspection, No Smut, Pining, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, but sex is more than implied, if you consider Verse 2 canon anyway, mid-Episode Ignis (Alternate Ending), post-Episode Ignis (Alternate Ending), sad I know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitzie/pseuds/Kitzie
Summary: Ten years is a long time to wait for the return of your king.It’s an even longer time to love someone who lives only for his king.





	Thin Floors and Tall Ceilings

**Author's Note:**

> **Happy birthday to our favourite bespectacled, Ebony-infused strategist <3 **
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>  _Finally_ , one of my own writings, not just Sin’s work posted! >:D  
> I named this after the song by Odesza, which I listened to for days on end ad nauseam whilst writing this piece. Highly recommend <3
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> Some details:  
> This is my attempt to work my Iggy-feels out of my system. Still feels like I’m firmly lodged in Ignis-hell (ironic, since he’s named after fire itself gdi), but at least I tried ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I wrote this fic with the sole and singular purpose to break my own heart so consider yourself warned.
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

****

* * *

  ** _memoriae_**

* * *

The first time you ever saw him outside of news clippings, he was covered in cuts and bruises and barely-healed scars. He looked like a wild thing, untamed and vicious, barely contained in a mortal human shell, and yet his eyes were perfectly clear. Too clear, like twin emeralds, sparkling with precision for a purpose that outsiders couldn’t possibly fathom. It made you think of a man possessed, a man on a mission, so perfectly focused you could only describe him as _dangerous_ , and it was all you could do to not turn heel and run. 

He passed you by, herded by his two friends — the sworn shield of the prince himself, and another blond boy you’d seen in pictures but couldn’t place — and it was only then that you realised that despite his firm, calculated gaze and regal air, he was barely managing to hold his own weight. He was supporting himself instead on the two men framing him protectively, as if he himself was the conspicuously absent prince. His clothing was in tatters, and it struck you then that you’d never seen the strategist looking anything less than impeccable, and that something must be very, very wrong if he was so disheveled, and they all looked so grim.

A shiver went through you as you glanced at the rapidly setting sun to the west — too early, far too early, it was barely early afternoon — and by the time you looked back at them, their backs were already rapidly disappearing into the Leville Hotel, and the crowd was dispersing. 

You tried not to think about how a man could look so near death, yet so determined, focused, and hopeful all at once. You tried not to think about how he looked like nothing could stop him from fighting for his cause, even if it cost him his life.

You didn’t know then that it once almost had.

 

* * *

 

The second time you saw him, you had just stumbled groggily into your morning shift at the small grill where you worked, tucked away behind the Leville within walking distance of the market. It was rare to have customers right at the first hour, but the sight of the three men at your table made you pause and wake up more fully. He looked put-together once more, perfectly coifed and clothing on point as he tapped thoughtfully with his pen on the notebook lying on the table. His face was still decorated with scars and even some nearly-healed scrapes, but he looked like the proper and presentable Ignis Scientia once more. Gone was the wild and dangerous man whose eyes had intimidated you so, replaced instead by a cool, composed and proper gaze that contemplated, calculated, and scrutinised, but without stripping you bare. It made you shiver with its intensity, but no longer drove you to turn heel and run. Quite the contrary; you found yourself wanting to know more about what was hidden behind those swirling ocean-green depths. The shield and the blond boy — you still couldn’t remember his name, though you recalled he was a commoner who had befriended the prince and become part of his Crownsguard — were clearly trying to appear more alert than they felt as the strategist explained something to them.

Coffee. They’d almost certainly come for coffee. 

You swallowed your nerves and went inside to start the percolator before leaving your bag in the back and putting on your simple apron. You figured that by the time you were done, the coffee would be brewed, and you’d be able to serve them. Said and done — you came outside with a small tray laden with mugs and the usual coffee-accessories, the pot of coffee securely in your other hand. You tried to seem nonchalant as you approached them, but it was astoundingly difficult given who was before you. The ease with which all three held themselves, the simple grace and perfect, personalised styles of their clothes made you more than a little self-aware, so you had double-checked your hair and apron in the mirror just in case. But even that couldn’t tone down the queasy feeling in your stomach at the thought of standing before the three men who should have been protecting the prince, but who now seemed ready to protect the whole world instead.

You knew that Prince Noctis had survived the fall of Insomnia, of course. Around Lestallum, it had become a tacitly accepted secret. By unspoken agreement, everyone pretended not to recognise the boy — at the time, he’d still been barely more — who’d run through their midst, always shadowed by his three friends and protectors. No one here liked the Empire, and everyone wished for the freedom that only a King of Lucis could bring. But now, yet again, you saw them without their dark-haired protégé, and it made something clench in your throat.

It didn’t matter, you had decided. By unspoken agreement, you were bound to keeping their identities secret for as long as it would take. And even if the nights were longer than they should be, they hadn’t lengthened for the last month or so. In fact, the scant few hours of daylight had doggedly refused to fade any further ever since these three men had first arrived in Lestallum, injured and filthy. Something had changed. Something that may have meant hope. Whatever it was they were doing, you were certain it was the reason for the encroaching darkness to not gain a firmer foothold. And so you straightened your back, put on your best smile, and delivered the dark brew.

“Your wounds look much better,” you attempted small-talk, though you wanted to kick yourself when you noticed him stiffening. Backpedaling had never been your strong suit, so you tried to broaden your smile as you poured the coffee and avoided eye contact. “You know, because I happened to see you arrive at the Leville a month ago. Must’ve been quite the daemon you hunters fought!”

The blond boy looked uncomfortable, even if the bespectacled man was better at hiding it, but the large hunk of muscle — the last of house Amicitia, you remembered; Gladiolus Amicitia — just smiled disarmingly and asked for a hearty breakfast. 

You were surprised to find that the two harsh scars running across his face didn’t detract from his handsome features, nor make him seem intimidating — at least not while he smiled so warmly at you. His eyes, however, seemed distant; as if flirting was an instinct, a comfortable routine he could easily slide into, even when his heart and mind were somewhere else entirely.

You felt deflated then, but tried not to let it get to you; you were a big girl, after all, and if they weren’t up to indulging your mild case of hero worship and fascination with the chiselled perfection of their bodies, you could deal with that. You simply took their orders after that and tried not to bother them too much. The moment you were out of earshot, they’d returned to the notebook and their intense discussion anyway, and you weren’t one to eavesdrop.

However, for reasons that made little sense at the time, you couldn’t stop watching the strategist. Even when another customer attracted your attention, you couldn’t tear your eyes away for long. You were mesmerised by his gestures, the precise motions of his fingertips across the pen, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed a sip of dark fluid. 

There was something about the vertical scar across his bottom lip that made you want to trace your finger across it, to feel the texture and discover where it led.

You were saved from your wandering thoughts when their food was ready, and you could get close once more to deliver the hot plates.

“This is Ebony, is it not?” were the first words he ever said to you, and the soft yet crisp cadence of his voice made your knees weak and your mouth feel dry. You’d probably been blushing since you first set eyes on them sitting at the small table, but if at all possible, you felt your cheeks heat further. You didn’t bother entertaining the notion that maybe, just maybe, the perceptive men and the strategist in particular wouldn’t notice.

“That it is,” you replied chirpily instead, placing the food before them and planting your hands on your hips. “You boys looked like you deserved the good stuff. Always keep some on reserve.”

You considered adding a wink at the end, but thought better of it — you were glad for it, too, for otherwise you may have not received his warm, grateful smile and seen his eyes soften for the first time.

You thought he may say something in return, but he never did. He just hummed appreciatively and went back to his notebook, but even that gesture felt like a grand reward.

When you came back some minutes later with a large pot of Ebony you’d managed to sneak out under your boss’s nose, the boys looked more than a little perplexed and ready to protest that they had ordered nothing else.

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” you winked at them conspiratorially, indulging against your better judgment in touching Ignis’s shoulder lightly as you placed the full pot on their table out of view from the grill’s kitchen.

The other two men stiffened noticeably, making you retract your hand as if you’d been burned, and for a few horrible moments you worried you’d overstepped.

But you didn’t think you had imagined the bone-deep gratitude you felt radiating off him as he smiled at you in silent acknowledgment, and somehow, that was reassurance and reward enough.

 

* * *

 

By the third time they came, you realised you’d developed your own regulars, and they easily became the highlight of your week, not to mention your favourite customers.

You learned that the blond boy was called Prompto, though he asked you call him Prom. He had the most earnest smile and infectious laugh in all of Eos. He grinned and told you the dimple in your cheek was cute, but seemed relieved when you just laughed it off, and you felt guilty for not having remembered his name before. Gladiolus insisted you just call him Gladio, and though it was none of your business, you were glad to see joy and ease return to his warm amber eyes, dispelling the distance he initially hid under a veneer of shallow flirtation. Ignis was just Ignis, without the offer of a nickname, though you knew his brothers-in-arms sometimes called him Iggy. Though he didn’t interact with the ease his friends did, you didn’t think that his mannerisms were stilted or awkward; but unwavering politeness and a professional distance seemed ingrained into his very being, and you couldn’t help but wonder how such vastly different people had become such fast, deeply bonded friends. You could only assume that he had been more open as a child, perhaps, or that there was more than first met the eye, if only you could sneak past the barricade he built around himself. And because he was so unreadable and you couldn’t stop staring at that damned scar, you were all the more eager to try and speak to him, to hear the soft velvet of his voice, and to find out more about what could make a man so young be so precise, so focused, and so doggedly avoidant of distractions beyond a brief hello.

You never pushed your luck, not insisting on more than a scant few minutes of idle chatter, but even so you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to capture him in conversation.

It was usually Prompto and Gladio who saved you from awkward silences, and it was they who had first asked your name after they’d officially given you theirs. They took to calling you “Sugar”, or sometimes silly little terms of endearment once they’d gotten comfortable around you, and while it wasn’t your top choice for a nickname, you smiled and accepted it. They weren’t insistent about it, and you were certain they would have backed off if you’d complained, but you couldn’t help but feel that they desperately needed a human connection outside of their brotherhood to overcome whatever it was that had made them leave the prince behind. 

So you let them call you nicknames and you giggled at the sillier ones, and you made sure to put on your smoothest Leiden charm when you called Prompto “handsome” or Gladio “big boy”. Ignis, of course, was always just “Ignis”. He never used your name, real or otherwise, but addressed you cordially, and you resigned yourself to the idea that this would be as much as you would get. The contrast between him and the other two men chafed, but even so, you found yourself growing fond of their steady presence every Sunday, and accepted it for what it was.

The first time he finally said your name, your actual first name, you thought your knees would give out right then and there. They’d arrived a few minutes after you for a change and wished you a good morning while standing up tall, towering over you with their impressive heights, but smiling broadly and appreciatively eyeing the dark brew you’d brought as you saw them arrive. Gladio had laughed heartily as you hesitantly accepted an over-eager Prompto’s request for a photo of you in a “cute pose” whilst holding the pot of Ebony, but eventually you ushered them to their table.

Throughout this exchange, Ignis stood slightly behind the other two, deeply engrossed in the contents of his notebook, and hadn’t said a word since you’d come to say good morning. You tried not to let that bother you, still feeling like you had no right expecting anything at all from any of the three men, but Gladio eventually noticed one of your lingering glances at the deeply focused man standing on the sidelines. 

He elbowed Ignis lightly. “Don’t be rude, Specs,” he murmured, and the startled man looked up, catching your eyes with an uncharacteristically rueful smile on his lips as he noticed his faux-pas.

“Ah, indeed. My apologies. Good morning,” he said, adding your name almost like an afterthought, and if you hadn’t sucked in a sharp breath to focus, you may have spilled their pot of Ebony all over their feet in shock.

It was your name on his lips, caressed by that velvety voice, and though you knew this was ridiculous and you should know better, you wanted to drown in his smooth cadence, to close your eyes and pretend you were wrapped in a warm cocoon of his lips and his tongue and _his voice_ all through the long nights into belated dawn.

By some miracle he didn’t say anything more, and you managed to maintain your composure, herding them to their table so you could finally deposit their Ebony and hopefully recover by the time they were ready for food. If any of them noticed how affected you were by something so simple as _him_ saying _your name_ in the perfectly innocent context of a simple “good morning”, they were gracious enough not to mention it.

He continued to use your name after that — though sparingly, and not to quite such dramatic effects as the first time — and didn’t call you nicknames or sweet nothings like the other two. You liked being on first-name basis with them, and avoided telling them that you’d known who they were all along. After all, tacit agreements still stood, and whether prince or king or only the three men alone were there to fight the darkness, they were still battling for you all, and they deserved a place of silence, where the fate of all Eos wasn’t on their shoulders.

And if coming here on a Sunday morning for a lazy brunch and pot of Ebony was their retreat, their haven of normalcy in a world gone mad that rested firmly across their shoulders, a place where they weren’t Amicitia, Argentum and Scientia of the Crownsguard, then you wouldn’t disturb that peace for anything.

 

* * *

 

It eventually turned into a routine.

Every Sunday, the men would be there when you got to work; sometimes covered in new cuts and bruises that didn’t merit healing magic, other times in the ethereal glow of ingested potions and freshly healed wounds. From the whispers throughout the city and the occasional fragments of conversation you overheard whilst bringing them more Ebony, you gathered that they were waiting for the king to return — you noted that they called him that, no longer just “prince” — and the preparations they were making whilst waiting had turned out to be dangerous work. You were certain the nights were arrested at their current length because of the sacrifices they’d made, the king they’d left behind.

As if you needed any more reasons to respect these three men.

And because they only deserved the best as far as you were concerned, you’d bring them a huge pot of Ebony but only charge for a small serving of the normal stuff, and you’d leave them to their work. You’d check by to take their breakfast orders once they’d had time to wake up, to make sure they had what they needed, but otherwise you’d leave them in peace. You watched them intensely during the slower moments when you had time to kill — you’d never been one to spurn a good view — but they never indicated being bothered by it.

You were certain they knew, though.

On more than one occasion you’d noticed Prompto throw you a sly glance, or Gladio a too-wide grin upon catching you staring dreamily at their bespectacled friend, and you found yourself laughing easily with them over your bashfulness at being caught. It was clear that they were used to receiving attention from the opposite sex — and their own sex as well, most likely; after all, looks like theirs were universally adored — even if Prompto did develop an adorable blush whenever you gave him a wink and winning smile. No matter what you did, though, no matter how easily you laughed or how casually made body-contact as you brushed by, Ignis never seemed to acknowledge your staring. He was civil, polite and even distantly friendly whenever you approached their table, but you didn’t for a second imagine that meant he hadn’t noticed. Ever calm and collected, the consummate gentleman, he simply acted as if you weren’t pining like a schoolchild before her first crush, and you eventually realised with a pang of regret that he was probably not only _not_ interested, but so doggedly focused on whatever the three of them did as they waited for their king to return that he wouldn’t act on his desires even if he was.

And so you watched, since you didn’t exactly have much else to do whilst you waited for customers and prayed for the nights to _not_ grow longer. And they didn’t complain, so you felt perfectly entitled to just watch the way his lips moved, the precise lines of his shoulders and arms as he brought the bitter Ebony to his lips, and to sigh dreamily to yourself whenever his gloved fingers smoothed through his perfectly gelled hair. 

One day, when the sun was shining brightly and throwing beautiful fractals of colour across his skin and glinting enticingly off the little skull pendant resting at the base of his throat, you greedily watched him swallow the last of his Ebony, tongue darting out almost imperceptibly to wet his lips when he withdrew the mug from his mouth. Not wanting to appear like the stalker you really were, you waited a few minutes before heading outside to offer them their customary refill.

You didn’t know what to expect when Gladio and Prompto both got up upon your approach, an obviously confused Ignis looking on, but they made their excuses that day — something about the lighting being just right for photographing a specific location, and Gladio’s younger sister demanding some quality time — and left you alone with the strategist. 

That was definitely not what you were expecting.

It seemed he hadn’t either, if the confusion gracing his features was anything to go by. Still, after a few moments of indecision, both of you carefully waiting for the other’s first move, he closed his notebook and gestured for you to sit down for your break. 

You decided to believe that his long-suffering sigh was at his friends leaving him without a word, and not at being forced alone into your company.

You didn’t talk much, really; not that you’d particularly expected to. For reasons that weren’t obvious to you, he seemed hesitant to look at you, and you tried not to let your disappointment show. But then he surprised you by filling up a mug of hot Ebony for you instead of letting you serve yourself, and he stayed with you, sitting silently in the sun, until your break was over.

When you got up and asked if he needed anything more, he simply rose with a polite decline, paid, and left.

You felt like you were allowed to be happy that he’d stayed to keep you company, even if neither of you had known what to say.

 

* * *

 

Occasionally they wouldn’t manage to get back to Lestallum by Sunday morning from the many missions they did, and then you’d find yourself looking up at every noise in the hopes of seeing them come around the corner with a smile and a wave. You were loathe to admit it, but the boys had started to brighten your days almost as much as the shrinking threat of eternal night.

It wasn’t necessarily that you felt any kind of bone-deep attachment to them, or that your life had been drastically altered by their presence. In all honesty, you’d been enjoying the weekly dose of eye-candy more than anything, and though they were funny and charming and pleasant customers, you simply had a vested interest in them staying alive and healthy until the threat of darkness was eradicated once and for all. That wasn’t to say you wouldn’t care if you’d found out they’d been hurt; you’d caught yourself silently worrying over some of the more angry-looking cuts and bruises they sported, and be it Prompto’s sweet summer-child smile or Gladio’s deep-bellied laughter or Ignis’s unwittingly sassy remarks, you wanted to protect them, cherish them and make sure that they wouldn’t be lost to the world, one pot of Ebony at a time.

But more than anything, if you were on the topic of honesty, you wanted one of those delicious men in your bed, and it was slowly driving you mad.

An infatuation. That’s what it was. A silly, meaningless crush, steadfastly maintained by their continued patronage at the grill, and by the strategist’s perpetual air of mystery and unwavering focus. Oh, the fantasies you had, of that composure crumbling, of hot breaths and stifled moans and—

You couldn’t be sure which days were worse for your wandering mind: the ones where the object of your fantasies was missing and you were left to dream, or the ones where the boys were right before you, inviting you to sit with them and share a mug of Ebony before resuming your shift.

That was a thing that started happening after that first day when you shared a table alone with Ignis, and it was slowly throwing you for a loop. It was one thing to have your idle daydreams cultivated by their continued reappearance at your workplace, but getting to know them — getting to know _him_ — during your breaks was doing nothing to sate your appetite. On the contrary: as you’d spent more time with them, relaxing and laughing and learning what made them tick, you’d found your fantasies shifting, changing, evolving into something new. When they’d first entered your café, you’d entertained absurd idle daydreams of all three men together — perhaps in a subconscious effort to dismiss the attraction you felt for a certain bespectacled strategist. But now, such absurd thoughts left you wondering how you ever saw the appeal. You had less interest in Gladio’s bulk of muscle hovering over you, delighting instead in easy flirts and loud laughter, knowing that nothing more would come of it. You realised that, just as how Prompto had been relieved to find you laughing off his sweet attempts at complimenting you, you also didn’t want more from him than his exuberance, his sunny smile and silly photographs. But Ignis…

Ignis.

Slowly, gradually, he’d started loosening up around you. He’d started smiling more honestly, including you in conversation, even allowing you to not just overhear, but to actively take part in his sarcastic and incredibly witty quips. As his smiles came easier and you started daring to throw sass right back at him, your fantasies became completely saturated with thoughts of him, poise and dignity shattered, sharing throes of passion and heated kisses amidst dimmed lights and twisted sheets.

On multiple occasions you’d dared to think of how easy it would be to simply proposition him, to get it out of your system and ease the near-permanent tension in his features in the process, but nothing had changed about your initial appraisal; you were certain that he was not interested and wouldn’t act on his desires even if he was.

So you spent your breaks speaking with them, laughing with them, glancing at him from under your lashes and sneaking in light, feathery touches when you felt you could get away with it, only to eventually go home alone and deal with the rising frustration on your own. It was only when your fantasies turned to touches of leather stroking down your body, of sinful heat and ecstasy withheld by hateful barriers of material, that you realised that for all your presumptuous little liberties, you’d never actually touched his skin. Even a minor brush of fingers when he passed you a plate or mug was always impeded by his soft gloves, thin enough that you hadn’t thought of it until that moment, yet widening the chasm between reality and desires all the same.

As soon as you realised this, the desire for body contact, for human touch, for skin on skin, became nigh unbearable. You became more forward in touching the other two men, toying with Prompto’s soft strands of hair, taunting him with idle threats of ruining his perfectly styled mane, or leaning against Gladio’s warm, muscular bulk just to take the edge off. They didn’t mind the physical contact and had even started initiating on their own at times, with playful little shoves or brief one-armed hugs as you grew progressively more friendly, and one uncharacteristically chilly morning, you even ended up spending your break seated on Gladio’s lap and using him as your personal space heater, whilst Prompto made at least ten different attempts to help warm up your hands. You spent that break laughing yourself silly, and you didn’t think it was just your overactive imagination or wishful thinking that made you feel like they had grown incredibly fond of you. 

Ignis was remarkably quiet that day, however, even for his standards, and you also didn’t think it was just your overactive imagination that made you feel like his eyes on your face were hard and heavy every single time you glanced in his direction that day.

 

* * *

 

About eight months into knowing the three men, you found yourself seated alone at the table with Ignis again, quietly enjoying the Lestallum sunshine. It was still uncommon for the other two to leave without their strategist in tow, but every once in a while you would end up with a peaceful break alone at the table with him, surreptitiously watching him through half-lidded eyes.

On that particular day, he was even more withdrawn than usual, to the point where it would’ve been noticeable even to the strangest of strangers. All three of them had been remarkably quiet, the atmosphere around the table subdued and heavy. Not once had their talk been interrupted by sunny laughter or a boisterous joke, and Ignis didn’t even have his notebook out. It was as if everything had stilled around the three of them, and it worried you.

You’d not wanted to impose, still feeling like you weren’t close enough to them to pry, and especially not to the man sitting opposite at that moment; hence just enjoying the sun. When his expression gradually shifted from reserved from barely contained sorrow, however, you felt something clench tightly in your chest, and opened your eyes fully to study him more overtly.

At first he didn’t seem to notice, and simply took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose as if that could stem the swell of emotions threatening to overtake him. It struck you that you had never seen him without his glasses, and that it was a crying shame that those beautiful seafoam eyes were eternally isolated from the world by those small panes of glass.

In an uncharacteristically public show of emotion, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration and hunched over the table as if crushed by an invisible burden, glasses dangling half-forgotten from his fingers.

You weren’t sure if he’d just forgotten that you were there, or if he simply didn’t care anymore.

“He’s… not coming back, is he.”

You hadn’t known what would come out of your mouth the moment you opened it, but you surprised even yourself with your brutal honesty. But you couldn’t think of any other reason for the three bright and optimistic men to seem so downtrodden and hopeless that day. You’d started suspecting that the prince was gone for good for some time now — months without a word would have that effect — but you’d never dared to voice this thought before them.

Ignis initially stiffened when you spoke, but slowly forced himself to relax with a shaky exhale; the kind of heavy, laboured exhalation you’d associate with an old tortured soul inching steadily closer to death, not with a beautiful man in his prime. Frustration slowly gave way to an air of utter defeat, and you almost wished you could take back your words. His hands drifted up, leather rubbing up over his forehead as his fingers found purchase in his own hair, and you were overcome by the sudden, sharp urge to stroke your own fingers through his tawny mane, to massage and ease the tension away, to maybe even make him smile. You stayed still, however, hardly daring to breathe as you watched the hand still holding his glasses drift down towards the table, placing the delicate frames securely on the plastic surface. You stayed still as he exhaled again, more of a melancholy sigh than the desolate gust of air from before, and you definitely stayed still as he opened his eyes, pinning you in place with a piercing gaze from beneath his long lashes. You realised with a jolt that the intelligent gleam in his eyes was even more piercing when unobstructed by his lenses, and decided then and there that the precise shade of green dancing around his irises must be the most beautiful colour you had ever seen.

You didn’t move as you remembered the first time you ever saw him, how the sheer danger his twin emeralds seemed to scream through the intensity of his gaze.

But you didn’t feel in peril this time, and you couldn’t have looked away even if you’d tried. So you just stayed still as you waited for him to formulate a response.

“So you _did_ know. I’d always suspected, but…” 

He trailed off, and it felt like the most heinous crime when he dropped his eyes from yours to sigh once more. You didn’t realise you’d been holding your breath, but as if a pressure had suddenly been released from your chest, you sucked in a vital gulp of air.

When he raised his head once more, it was only to stare past you into the distance. He seemed lost in thought, lost in a far-off place — memory, vision, or dream, you couldn’t tell — yet he spoke with such conviction that it nearly took your breath away.

“He _is_ coming back. He _has_ to come back. We may have changed the future, but he is still the Chosen King, and he will come back and banish the darkness. He _will_ come back to m-”

He interrupted himself, shaking his head near-imperceptibly before fixing you again with his intense stare.

“To us. He will come back to all of us.”

 

* * *

 

He left shortly after that conversation, leaving you alone to wonder what kind of man the king would have to be to command such fierce and unwavering love and loyalty from men like Ignis, Gladiolus and Prompto. You never brought it up, sensing that he wouldn’t want you to, but your perception of Ignis was irrevocably altered by those few exchanged words. You began to sense, for the first time, a vulnerability in him; a kind of tenderness that made him all the stronger and wiser for its fragility.

With a dawning sort of horror, you began to realise that maybe your infatuation transcended the purely physical, and with a terror born of past loves lost and sundered, you beat the feeling down, desperately fighting against any foothold it may have been able to gain within your heart.

 

* * *

 

One Sunday, when a rare drizzle of rain had the men forgoing their usual spot outside to sit instead in the corner booth of your grill, you brought them little sweets you’d made the day before. They were nothing special really, as baking wasn’t your forte, but they were drenched in honey and reminded you of simpler times, back when you still lived in Insomnia. You thought maybe a bit of nostalgia would do you all some good.

“What weather, eh? Hope next week we can sit outside again… Holy shitballs, these are _really good_ , how did you-” Prompto started, his sunny smile not dampened at all by the weather, before the sweets completely took over his conscious stream of thought.

“Really, that good? Let me try, Sugar.” Gladio immediately reached over his blond friend, ignoring all protests as he shoved him down to get a sweet from you. You laughed and held the plate closer so he could grab a sticky square for himself, then put the rest on the table where all of them could reach. 

You grinned broadly when Gladio started making exaggerated noises of pleasure, his face scrunched in a parody of ecstasy. 

“Well Prom, Gladio, I’m glad you liked them,” you smirked, pleased with the responses you were getting, though Ignis had made no move to try your little treats.

“Seems like _Sugar_ is even more fitting a nickname than I’d thought,” Gladio laughed, then elbowed a blushing Prompto when he suggested that “Honey” might work, too. “Hey, Iggy, you’ve got to try these. She could give you a run for your money, at least on the baking front.”

“Yeah, Specs, come on, you haven’t even tried one yet! They’re _so_ good!” Prompto added with a mild nudge to the taller man’s side, having shuffled closer to Ignis to avoid Gladio’s sharp elbows.

Ignis looked up from the newspaper in his hand, for once not buried in his notebook. He looked put out for not being able to pretend that this entire conversation wasn’t happening right in front of him. He eyed your sweets hesitantly; not suspiciously, exactly, but… you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“I promise they’re not poisoned, Ignis,” you tried, your tone light to try and convey an ease you didn’t entirely feel.

The surprise on his face wasn’t feigned, and you didn’t think you were imagining a faint blush on his cheeks as he avoided meeting your eyes, clearly taken aback.

“I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to suggest…” he tried, before being interrupted in his uncharacteristic rambling by an excited Prompto shoving the plate in his face.

“Really, Iggy, you’ve _got_ to try one, she made them for us! Don’t be mean!”

“I… Of course, I’d love to try one,” he managed, his usual self-control back in place.

You tried not to be too disappointed at his displeasure for being put on the spot.

Nevertheless, you watched as he reached for one of the honey-drenched squares, only to hesitate a moment before actually touching it. You were just about ready to leave them and busy yourself with something else, not wanting to keep watching as the one guy whose opinion mattered most to you clearly hated your effort to be friendly… when suddenly you realised he had taken off one of his gloves, and was reaching for the succulent morsel with his bare hand. You’d never seen him without his gloves before. You froze in place, hardly daring to breathe as you watched and waited for a verdict. You were mesmerised by his hand, the sight of pale skin, the precise movements of his long, elegant fingers bringing the sweet to his lips, watching his lips close around it, watching him chew and swallow.

You stopped breathing when he lifted his fingers back to his lips, subtly licking the worst of the honey from them, apparently oblivious to the three pairs of eyes staring at him. He hummed quietly in approval.

“Well, it seems you were right, Prompto. They are very good,” he said simply. Gladio threw his hands up in the air with a huff, as if unable to believe that this was all his friend had to say. Prompto also looked deflated at the formality of his response and reached forward to grab a second bite to show that he, at least, truly did appreciate your baking.

But you hardly registered any of that: sharp emerald eyes rose to meet your own, and you remained locked together in that moment, him looking at you over the fine rims of his glasses. You were rooted in place, startled by the sheer intensity of his stare. He opened his mouth to form words, and finally your gaze dropped from his eyes to follow the movements of his lips instead. You weren’t sure if the other two men had even noticed that Ignis kept talking, but you certainly did.

“One might even say _exquisite_.”

Such simple words, not even spoken privately, but you were shaken. You masked your trembling with a broad, happy smile, beaming at the three of them as if making up for the lack of sunlight that day.

“Well, I’m glad you like them,” you said, grasping for anything else to say before Gladio’s and Prompto’s smirks at your flustered state could become any more obvious. “I hope that’ll make up for missing y’all next week.”

“Next… what‽” Prompto exclaimed, immediately turning sad puppy eyes on you. “Why won’t you be here next week?”

“Sorry, handsome,” you managed with a subdued smile. “It’s my birthday next week, and I always take the day off.” 

Prompto frowned, and you braced yourself for the inevitable question even as you berated yourself for not hiding your melancholy; but before he could do more than open his mouth, Gladio elbowed him in the ribs, and he was left with a disappointed look on his face.

You were grateful to Gladio for the intervention.

“Don’t be rude, Prompto; she’s entitled to spend her birthday however she wishes,” Ignis interjected. He didn’t even look up from the newspaper he’d returned to.

“How _are_ you spending it, sunshine?” Gladio asked before Prompto could complain any further. 

“Yeah, you have any fun plans?” Prompto asked instead. He looked at you expectantly, and a lump started forming in your throat.

“I… no, not really,” you slowly admitted, and you kept talking if only to avoid looking at Prompto’s sad expression. Even Ignis put down his paper, his perceptive gaze on your face, but you hardly noticed. “I used to do this… this thing, every year, with my sister. So I’d always take the day off. But she’s gone, and has been for a while, so all that’s left is taking the day off. But I don’t really feel like doing anything else without her either, so… No. Nothing.”

To their credit, none of them tried to push for details, or asked about the rest of your family — not even Prompto, though he clearly looked like he wanted to say something. But they saved you the pain of describing how your father died many years ago in service to the Lucian crown, only a few months after you’d moved to the city from your little town in Leide, or how your mother succumbed to grief not long after. They didn’t ask you to relive how you’d watched your sister die the night you’d both tried to flee Insomnia amidst the chaos the Empire had wrought. They didn’t need to. It was written plainly across your face.

It was hardly surprising when Prompto was the first to surge to his feet, knocking his chair back in his vigour, his face filled with determination. 

“Well then, you’re going to spend your birthday with _us_!” he proclaimed, only to be met by your confused stare and the criticisms of his friends.

“Prom, you can’t just insist she should work on her birthday!” Gladio grumbled loudly whilst Ignis sighed in consternation at their friend’s behaviour.

“No guys, don’t you understand? We should throw her a party!” Prompto exclaimed gleefully, looking pleased with himself, and the other two paused thoughtfully for a moment.

Your first instinct was to insist this was in no way necessary, and that you didn’t want them to waste one of their scant free days on entertaining _you_ ; not when their lives were so intense and dangerous, and moments of rest were so hard to come by.

You could have tried harder to refuse, but all your protests were easily overturned, and if there was one thing you’d learned about these three boys, it was that no one could stop them once they’d set their minds to something.

And so, the next week on Saturday afternoon, you found yourself sitting in the backseat of the nicest car you’d ever seen — the Regalia, you were told — on your way to one of the camping havens not too far outside Lestallum. The boys had insisted on taking you camping for just one night so you could cheer in your birthday at midnight sharp, and though you were nervous at the prospect of spending a night outside of the safe city limits and far from all the lights, you trusted them when they assured you that the havens were safe, and no daemon could touch you there. 

It ended up being one of your favourite memories: learning from Gladio how to set up a camp and make a fire, posing for Prompto to take pictures both silly and gorgeous, and delighting in Ignis’s absolutely fantastic cooking. 

You hadn’t realised he was such an amazing cook. But really, you thought, there was probably nothing in all of Eos that Ignis Scientia couldn’t master if he put his mind to it.

At midnight sharp as promised, you cheered in the new day, and though you had no idea when he’d found the time or how they’d brought it there in such fantastic condition, Ignis had even baked a cake for you, with your name written across it in beautiful cursive chocolate lettering.

“Don’t forget to make a wish!” Prompto urged as you gazed into the little flames atop your cake, momentarily so lost in emotion that you couldn’t speak. But his voice pulled you out of your own mind, and blinking away the tears in your eyes, you nodded, shut them tight to focus on your wish, and blew out the candles.

“Attagirl!” Gladio bellowed with glee, and even Ignis was genuinely smiling as he went about cutting slices for all of you.

Surreptitiously you wiped away the tears collecting at the corners of your eyes, and Prompto was quick to wrap an arm around you, boisterously demanding a selfie with the birthday girl. You indulged him, and the four of you took more pictures than you could count.

It felt like hours had passed before Prompto finally managed to put his camera down, quietly discussing something with Gladio in the corner of the camp, and you were able to take your slice of cake and sit at the edge of the haven, your back to the fire and looking up at the stars.

You’d _missed_ the stars. It was one of the things you regretted most about leaving Leide, and you’d always loved staring up at the constellations, naming those you knew and creating new ones where the sky felt too empty. With all the bright city lights, neither Insomnia nor Lestallum offered much of a view in that sense. Now, with the Starscourge steadily blotting out the sky, the stars were no longer visible all night long. In just another hour or two, the stars would be masked by the infernal dark. You tried greedily to drink in the sight of the sky as it was right then, to commit that moment to memory.

With a sharp pang, you realised that you could no longer recognise more than a scant few constellations.

You didn’t know how long you were sat there, quietly staring at the night sky and slowly relishing your cake, but halfway through your slice, you felt someone approach quietly as if hesitant to disturb. You looked over your shoulder with a smile, and couldn’t help your quiet squeak of surprise when you saw who it was.

“My apologies… I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ignis said, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. If it hadn’t seemed so out of character, you would have laughed at the endearing gesture. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

You gestured grandly to the space beside you, your heart fluttering in your chest. Your broad smile was hardly managing to cover up how nervous you felt as he gracefully eased down next to you, close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating from him, but not quite touching.

“The stars,” he mumbled with an appreciative hum while looking up at the sky, and you couldn’t help but note the strong line of his jaw, or how the divot between his clavicles was just revealed beneath his shirt. It took all your self-control to not reach out and touch him. “This reminds me of when I was a child.”

“Is that so?” you managed to respond quietly, unwilling to disturb the peaceful quiet. You were definitely not watching the stars anymore.

“Yes,” he confirmed, and the soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth made your heart ache. “We, that is, the prince and I…”

He stopped himself then, as if he’d already said too much, and closed his eyes. You didn’t want him to close off; not now. He’d been about to open up to you, to finally say more than niceties, and you weren’t willing to let go of the moment. You reached out and placed your hand over his, carefully avoiding his thumb, uncovered by the leather. He tensed briefly but did not pull away, and this made you bold.

“You can tell me,” you murmured. Encouragingly, you hoped. 

You weren’t sure if he was going to respond, but eventually he opened his deep green eyes and stared back up at the night sky.

“Prince… _King_ Noctis loved the stars, you know. Back when we were children,” he finally continued, and you couldn’t help but smile at the image of Ignis as a child. “He would always try and sneak out of his quarters, hoping to catch a glimpse of a shooting star.”

He shook his head with that smile on his lips, and all you could think about was what they might feel like pressed against your own.

The feeling was so intense you had to look away, and to cover your embarrassment you took another bite of your cake. In your haste, a drop of gooey chocolate remained stuck to your lip, and you made a startled noise as you put down your fork to free your hand and reach for a napkin.

But your hand never made it that far.

You hadn’t felt him move, had barely even blinked, but suddenly he was leaning into you, piercing emeralds fixed on your lips in a way that made your breath hitch, and his gloved hand was hovering just before your face, as if it was taking every ounce of self-restraint in his body to stop himself from touching you. 

“Please, allow me,” he whispered, and it was such a hushed, husky sound that you almost keened in acquiescence. 

You nodded, just the slightest jerk of your head, and immediately felt his leather-clad fingers slip into your hair, stroking against your jaw. It was such a simple touch – almost innocent, really – but after so many months dreaming, so many lonely nights fantasising, it felt like the answer to every fervent prayer. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you surrendered to the feeling and leaned into the feel of the leather stretched over his palm. 

When the uncovered pad of his thumb finally touched to the corner of your lips, it was like an electric jolt passed between you, instantly overloading all your senses. You were certain he felt it too, for he sucked in a breath just as you did, then traced the plump of your lip, picking up the smear of chocolate as he did.

You almost whined when he slowly started pulling his hand away, his thumb covered in sticky sweetness, and the smooth texture of the leather gliding along the underside of your jaw felt so heavenly that you leant further into the feeling. He stopped pulling away when just the tips of his fingers were still poised under your chin, the last remnants of contact, and you opened your eyes just in time to drown in the intensity of his gaze as he brought his mouth to his thumb and closed his lips around it, quietly sucking off the offending chocolate.

It was all you could do to not fling yourself at him, but his gaze had you paralysed. You decided right there and then that no man had any business being so handsome _and_ so sensual. 

You were pretty sure it was he who moved first after that, sinking his hand into the unbound tresses of your hair again and closing the distance until his lips were on yours. It didn’t matter; as soon as your lips were touching, you both crashed together, twin storms colliding now that they’d finally been unleashed. With a desperation born of desires denied, you clung together, barely breaking apart even just to breathe, and the only reason you weren’t moaning and begging him for more was the fear of being caught by the other two men.

 

* * *

 

When Ignis suggested he walk you home the next day, Gladio’s and Prompto’s smug grins made you realise that they’d expected nothing different — possibly even planned and instigated this moment for you both.

You couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

 

* * *

 

The first time you fell in bed with one another, it was literally that: _falling_. You fell hard and fast, clutched together in a desperate embrace, all composure gone and forgotten. You fell and drowned in the moment, and even the few gasping breaths you managed to take when you came up for air couldn’t have stopped you both from becoming completely lost in one another, casualties of mutual need spiralling out of control.

It felt like _you_ were a shooting star, a bright light in the sky just for Ignis; a flickering light burning a trail across the night sky, hurtling mercilessly towards the atmosphere to burn and fizzle out of existence in the wake of its own passion.

Your need was fuelled by want and lust and the touch-starved desire to be close to someone again. You’d been fantasising for so long, become so enamoured with this man before you, and you needed to feel his self-control crumble: a vulnerability that you selfishly wanted all for yourself.

His need was darker and almost frenzied, as though the primary driving force – even beyond the lust and want – was the frantic need to suffocate a bone-deep loneliness and to _forget_ : to forget that the weight of the world was on his shoulders, to forget the man, the king, the _friend_ he was still waiting for, and to pretend for as long as this electric feeling kept you fused together, your bodies slick and hot and undulating wildly, that time was standing still and nothing else mattered. It was a desperate plea, a feeble desire for nothing to exist outside of sheer pleasure; a hedonistic outlet for the crushing realities outside of that room, that bed, your body.

It was a heady rush, the unavoidable conclusion to a dance gone on too long. It was the inevitable outcome from the moment he traced your lips with the pad of his thumb and roused in you the keening desire to trace every scar on his body, the scar across his lip. It was the electric feeling of his bare skin on yours, juxtaposed against the smooth, soft leather of his gloves gliding across the rest of your skin. It was the inexorable culmination of every stolen glance, every withheld emotion and every private thought.

It was wild, untamed, a blinding moment of bliss in the midst of dark chaos. It was a passionate flame so scorching it could melt steel. It was the shooting star hurtling alone into the cold, dark depths of space, never to reach its destination. And when it was done, when you lay panting in the aftermath, arms wrapped around the hot body still covering yours, there wasn’t much of anything left.

He stayed where he had collapsed, content to let you pet and stroke and muss his hair. But when he withdrew, rolling over to lie on his back beside you and no longer touching, you acutely felt the nothingness that surrounded you in the wake of the boneless pleasure you’d chased and found.

It wasn’t so much that you thought he’d used you and was moving on; that didn’t fit his pattern, the rigidity with which he’d tried to deny himself the pleasure between your bodies. And if the subtle, careful smile he offered as he rose to clean up told you anything, it was that the encounter had not been meaningless to him. But you’d had a read on him since the first time he’d ever sat down for breakfast at your grill, and even if you were wrong in thinking that he wasn’t interested, he was still so doggedly focused on duty, his king and the very fate of your star that he wouldn’t act on his desires even if he wanted to.

You knew this would be the end of the line. Unless you did anything in your power to stop it.

And so, when he returned from cleaning up the remains of your coupling, you didn’t silently watch him leave and resign yourself to fate, no; you reached for his hand and invited him back to the bed. Overcame his surprise and hesitance with soft smiles and even softer supplications. Pressed him back against the mattress and made sure to caress and stroke and worship, to supply far more pleasure than he ever dared demand until the dark and frenzied hedonism could turn instead into a peaceful haven, a moment just for him in which he’d let you share.

After all, whether you liked it or not, he still had an entire star to protect, an empire to topple, and a king to await; and if you could offer him this moment and this bed as a halcyon sanctuary, then by the Six, that was exactly what you would do.

And quietly, a small, yearning part of you admitted that even if this was the most you could ever have, if this was as much as the Astrals deigned to grant you, then you would gladly take what was offered.

 

* * *

 

You never imagined that everything would change the instant you slept together, and overall, things stayed mostly the same. Even so, the carefully crafted routines of Sunday brunches and weeks spent pining was disturbed and needed to be readjusted, much to Gladio’s and Prompto’s amusement, but you were dedicated to making it work.

With time, it became natural.

You stopped blushing whenever he said your name, and he no longer avoided looking at you for fear that he may lose his composure. You took to calling him “Iggy”, and got a disproportionate amount of pleasure every time he called you “darling”, taking the slack-jawed stares of the other two men in stride. He sometimes offered small affections, light touches to your cheek or chivalrous kisses to the back of your hand, and you let yourself push stray strands of his hair out of his face when the urge took you.

He didn’t stop leaving on long missions to slay daemons and investigate tombs, sometimes returning with new scars and injuries for you to trace with fingers, mouth and tongue, and the touch of his skin contrasting with the feel of his leather gloves was still electric. The boys still spent their Sunday mornings at the grill, with breakfast and Ebony and easy laughter, planning their next moves over Ignis’s notebook.

And on the nights he found himself back in Lestallum, he would inevitably end up in your bed, and for just a few hours, you’d let him forget anything else existed.

It was a strange thing, you mused, being so deeply in love with a man who’d already completely devoted his heart and soul to another.

Sometimes at night, after you’d left him boneless and sated and sleep overcame him, you’d hear him softly call out the king’s name in his sleep. He’d never once called yours, not that you’d heard.

You tried not to care, but it wasn’t always easy. It felt simple and natural to be jealous, but it was far too crude an emotion to describe what you were truly feeling. After all, how could you be jealous of a spectral king whom you’d never met, who had lost so much but was still fighting for everyone on the entire star? How could you begrudge such a man the loyalty and love of his closest friends?

You couldn’t honestly resent the man for commanding such faith and allegiance from his brothers. And if he was held in such incredibly high esteem by a man like Ignis… well. You were biased to think he must have earned such pure and honest adoration.

Besides, if you were being honest, it wasn’t like Ignis was incapable of loving another. Oh, no. You had no doubt that he loved you in his own way, even if the word itself never left his lips. He demonstrated it with every cooked treat, every thoughtful little gift, and every single quiet moment shared on the couch. He showed you his deep adoration with every kiss, and affirmed his appreciation when he didn’t let you make the dark nights exclusively about him.

But be that as it may, even through every dream, every hug, every kiss, you knew you weren’t the only thing dancing behind his eyelids, not the only being occupying his thoughts. If you were being honest, aside from the deepest, most euphoric moments of bliss, you weren’t even the largest presence in his mind.

Sometimes you raged at the unfairness of it, that you’d sacrificed so much and lost even more only to have the one good thing left overshadowed by not being yours and yours alone. But still you shared. 

Immediately after, you’d berate yourself for your selfishness. You swore to never try and tie him down with empty words and pleas of love you knew he couldn’t return.

 

* * *

 

“Saving our star means nothing if you have no one to share it with,” you told him once, and he looked at you with a distant, unfathomable expression, like he didn’t understand why you felt the need to remind him of something so blatantly obvious.

His eyes widened a fraction as he considered; then the little divot of concern that you knew so well reappeared between his eyebrows as he studied you more closely. He eyed you like he was only now truly seeing you for the first time. Your heart sank when you realised what that might have meant. 

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t need to. You had no doubt that he cared for you; that much had become obvious over the years. But it was equally obvious that you would never play the starring role in his life. You’d be eternally eclipsed by his duty — nay, his undying devotion — for the crown.

If you were being fair, you would admit that it was more than that. It wasn’t just the crown, and Lucis, that he loved so deeply. It was the brotherhood of four. It was the king.

You could only hope that his love would not bestow upon him the same fate as that of your late father; that peaceful times were indeed coming, as the three men kept insisting. You tried to ignore the roar of fear in your heart every time they left on another scouting mission, to defeat more daemons, to protect the world.

You could accept that you would always play second fiddle to his fealty. You couldn’t accept that it may cost him his life.

Perhaps it was selfish. But there it was.

He never told you that it once almost had.

 

* * *

**_ad praesens tempus_ **

* * *

 

It’s been ten years since you first saw him get dragged up the steps of the Leville by his friends, and though the daemon attacks never ended, the dreaded eternal night never came, and you’ve stopped worrying what might happen to you both if the king ever returned. You’re certain now that your nightmares of your love being called away by some spectral king, fading from view without so much as a backwards glance, are just that — nightmares. 

But despite everything, one day, the king does return, and when he leaves, Ignis leaves with him.

Of course he leaves.

 

* * *

 

News is hard to come by in the days after his departure, but one thing is certain: the city is alight with whispers of the King Returned and the grand battle they are preparing for. Everyone knows the Empire was not defeated, but just licking its wounds; everyone knows that the daemon threat could grow worse at any moment until the scourge upon your star is eradicated for good.

You try to breathe, to take it one day at a time, to simply smile and agree whenever people speak of the brotherhood’s bravery.

You pretend your hands aren’t shaking when you serve out Ebony to customers who romanticise your lover risking his life for the greater good.

 

* * *

 

One morning, not long after, you wake up to find the sun shining brightly through your window, hours earlier than it has for over a decade. You struggle upright and open your window, marvelling in the early morning warmth that was absent for so long. You wonder if it’s just your imagination that the sun’s rays feel warmer than you’ve ever felt before. You wonder if this means the Starscourge is gone for good.

You shiver despite the warmth, and try not to think about what this might mean for the man who holds your heart.

 

* * *

 

The days have resumed their cycle from over ten years ago, growing longer and shorter with the seasons but never disappearing completely. The people are still rejoicing, and though the singing and dancing on every street corner has tapered off, spirits are decidedly high, the mood overjoyed, and life continues on.

Everyone is happy. Things seem normal. 

You haven’t heard from Ignis in months.

 

* * *

 

You know he is alive.

You hear the news from Insomnia — of king returned, of efforts to rebuild, of survivors slowly trickling back to reclaim their homes and lives.

You see newsclippings of him beside his brothers-in-arms, adorned in new scars but otherwise none the worse for the wear, at the very forefront of all efforts.

You wonder briefly whether you should return to Insomnia, try to rebuild some of the life you had before. You dismiss the thought just as quickly, fearing the bad memories and night terrors a return might bring. You wonder whether he would be happy to see you should you go anyway. Decide, vindictively perhaps, that if he wanted you with him, he’d come back for you.

 

* * *

 

Hope is a cruel, mercurial thing.

It raises your spirits every time you see a crown of tawny gelled-up hair, or when you think you spy a pair of seafoam green eyes. It crushes your heart beneath its heels every time you realise it’s not the same emeralds that haunt you in your dreams.

 

* * *

 

A year has passed, and you’ve given up on hoping.

 

* * *

 

One day, someone knocks on your door, and when you open it, his ghost stands before you.

You know it can’t be him, for he left and never returned. And if it was him, he could have just come in since you never changed the locks to your door.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” are the first words out of his mouth, and though you believed yourself to be numb to the pain by now, tears spring to your eyes at the sound.

He looks uncertain, uncomfortable, worried even, and it’s such a private and intimate kind of behaviour that it makes your knees weak and convinces you to let him in. As he steps forward and takes your face in his hands, your name a weak and hopeless prayer on his lips, you let yourself believe it’s truly him.

“I don’t want us just to be a memory,” he whispers, and you almost allow the hope you’d thought dead to rise again from its cold, hard ashes.

He convinces you when you cling together, desperately trying to close the distance between your bodies and souls, completely heedless of the open door and propriety. You know it to be him when he kisses you, and you feel like it’s the first breath of air you’ve taken in years. You believe, and you hope – you may even wish, as you haven’t dared to for so long – for there to be a future for you both.

You will never be able to dislodge the love he has for his king or fill him instead with love for you. You will never be able to take the place of his greatest passion in life. You know you’ll only ever hold second place, never to play a starring role in his heart. But he does still _love_ you – you believe that with all your heart – and he wants you with him regardless of his duties to king and country. 

And if this is as much as the Astrals deign to grant you, then you will gladly take what is offered.

 

* * *

**_tempus fugit_ **

* * *

 

He had given everything for his friend, his brother, his king, and you feared that one day it truly would cost him his life. Greater still than the fear that it might was the fear that if such a moment should come, he would give it willingly for a love much greater still than the love he held for you.

He never did tell you that he once almost had.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank yous to:  
> [queenofkadara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara) for betaing. Beautiful human being that she is, she invested a crazy amount of time and effort through multiple drafts and on a time schedule to boot (cause I was desperate to post TODAY for Iggy's birthday) without even knowing the fandom to help me make this thing presentable.  
> Also, a huge thank you to both her and to my unbiological sister, [RealityWarp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityWarp/pseuds/RealityWarp), for their undying encouragement and love.


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